Slow Burn
by Delz
Summary: Jean's thoughts at the end of X2. Heavy spoilers. Updated with Nightcrawler's POV.
1. Burn

She's never been in the water before, not like this. Not with it coming at her from all directions, not when she knows it could quite possibly kill everyone in the world that she cares about, because they're in the way. She knows Scott and the others are watching, she can feel them, like she's never felt people before and she knows it will hurt him, both of the _hims_ as she does this, but she knows its the only way.  
  
She forces the X-Jet up, she watches them go and she feels it. She feels the force inside of her. She can feel her skin's heat radiating from the inside out, she doesn't understand this at all but she can't think about it right now. She can't think about how it feels as though her very core is on fire, or that her eyes are practically shooting flames. She can't think about the insanity of feeling boiling hot in a sea of freezing water. She can't think about it, because she doesn't have the _time_.  
  
All she can think about is that wave, and those people, and their safety. And when she feels it, when she feels her mind pushing them upwards, to safety, she knows that it's time. That she can rest. So she lets go, she can't hold it anymore, the water is too much for her to bear.   
  
And for a split second before the wave hits, she's angry. Angry that she couldn't save herself, angry that she's going to die for this stupid _cause_, angry that it had to be her, angry that she'll never see Scott's eyes, angry that she'll never touch Logan again, angry that Ororo will never realize how much she appreciated her.   
  
And the anger practically floods through her, and she feels as though there's a blaze in her very soul, and she appreciates it because it's not chill like the water. So she hangs onto the heat, and she whispers the goodbyes that she couldn't say through Xavier. And she is ready, because she knows everyone will die someday. The one thing she doesn't realize is, the phoenix always rises. 


	2. Strong

**authors note:** hey guys! thanks for all the lovely comments, they really made me happy. :) Here's another chapter, from Scott's point of view. I may do this for every character, but I'm not sure yet.  
  
He always thought that when she died, he'd know. He thought the very world would burst into flames, and he'd fall to his knees and weep, and he'd never be the same again, because really what was he without _her_?  
  
But he didn't feel that way now, he simply felt empty. Someone had torn out his heart and stomped on it, but he knew that somewhere it was still _beating_. He noticed the little things, an empty chair at a dinner table, an empty space in their bed, a missing pilot from the X-Jet. Every time he'd notice a place where she should be, his heart would pang and he couldn't help but wonder, wonder if she knew how much he loved her.   
  
He would have died for her. He would have gladly died in her place, gladly been frozen in those giant waves. But he wasn't given the chance, and this hurts him.  
  
He hasn't spoken to Xavier about this yet, but he knows, he just knows she's still with him. The only thing that's keeping him from a breakdown, the only thing that's stopping him from throwing himself at walls and tearing his own skin with a knife, the only thing that's making him think twice when he wants to tear his own eyes out. He still feels her.  
  
She's still there, her aura is still surrounding him. Sometimes he feels as though she's hugging him, as though her arms are wrapping around him and he swears it's real. He swears she's not dead, he swears she's in the room with him, because you can't just _feel_ someone that vividly if they're completely gone.   
  
He won't tell anyone this, of course. They'd think him mad, they'd call him a victim of grief, they'd suggest he was weak. He's not weak, he knows this. He knows he's strong enough to deal with this. But he also knows that Jean wasn't weak. That Jean wasn't a victim of _anything_, and so he waits.  
  
He waits for the time he knows will come, the time that she will come back, and the arms wrapped around him will be solid again. 


	3. Whispers

**authors note:** I've done in this order: Jean, Scott, Xavier. Do any of you have any preference to who I do next? Thanks for all the lovely comments.  
  
He knew her as well as any father could know a daughter. She had been brought to him so young, and he'd helped her. He'd helped her with the ability to move things with her mind. A pencil. A desk. A person. And in those final few moments, a jet and a wave. He hadn't helped her to sacrifice, she'd learned that on her own, and this made him proud beyond reason.  
  
These were the times when he was tired, above all tired, and all he wanted to do was rest and think. But he was not allowed these leisures. He had to continue to train others, others who would do the same as this magnificent girl, no _woman_, and die so easily for their cause. He had stayed connected to her as she died, tried to whisper in her minds eye, give her comforting thoughts.  
  
He noticed the way his x-men acted now. Harsh words no longer exchanged between the two _hims_, his longing stares at empty spaces, his nervous lingering at doorways, her losing control at the dinner table and electrocuting herself.  
  
They look at him sometimes as though he is unfeeling, and they forget he is a telepath and he hears their screams of anger in their minds. _Why aren't you grieving?_ they want to scream at him, and he says nothing to this, never, even though he hears it.  
  
He is grieving. He is thinking of her each day as he awakes, and each night as he sleeps. His most brilliant student, the one who surpassed the master and saved the masses. She is a true hero, but they never realize what he knows but is not certain of. That when he connected to her, tried to whisper comforting words to her through her death, she never _stopped_ whispering back. 


	4. His

**authors note**: Your comments seriously motivate me guys, I've never churned out writing like this before! Please tell me who you'd like me to do next.  
  
She was his. She did not know this, she had no idea, but in his mind, in that comforting place where he creates a happy life for himself, she was his. She loved him, and she touched him with the same touches she gave to _him_ and she was completely and totally his.  
  
She's not his anymore. She's gone, and she will never return and she will never be his because she belongs only to the waves that took her life. He thinks it must be terrible to drown. He thinks it would be better to burn to death, because he doesn't think he could gasp for air and get nothing but water and not drive himself to madness before death.  
  
He misses her. He misses her so badly that he aches all over, and he awakens in the middle of the night and finds his sheets all clawed up.   
  
He remembers their first and last kiss, brutal and passionate and raw and everything he'd wanted it to be. He longed to kiss her again, but he wasn't the _good_ guy. He didn't get to.  
  
The _good_ guy spends his days acting stoic and crying in the dark, so loudly that half the school hears him as he screams her name as if it will bring her back.  
  
He is not the good guy. He's not going to cry, he's going to keep it in. Because that is where it belongs, just like all of his memories of her. He finds that he thinks back often to their kiss. His lips still burn.  
  



	5. Saint

**authors notes**: Thanks all for your lovely comments. I don't think this chapter came out as well as the others, because I am not a very religious person so Nightcrawler's point of view was kind of hard for me to grasp. I tried my best though. Please give me some comments (I love them!) and tell me who you'd like to see done next. A translation of the prayer Kurt recites can be found here.  
  
St. Aidan of Ferns, St. Bernard, St. Helen, St. Therese, St. Joan, St. Maria, St. Isabel.   
He muses often, when he is sitting in his corner, whispering names of blessed ones to himself. He wonders if she is a saint now, because he thought from the moment he saw her that she was special. He prays for her soul everyday. He doesn't think her soul is in any danger, but he prays nonethless.  
  
_ich glaube an gott, den vater, den allmächtigen, den schöpfer des himmels und der erde, und an Jesus Christus, seinen eingeborenen sohn, unsern herrn, _  
  
He did not truly know her. Yet he feels loss. Loss of a beautiful bright creature from this earth, a creature who could have helped others so much more if she had been allowed to stay. If it had not been her time to go. He wonders if this was her test. He has been tested time and time again. Abandoned. Hunted.   
  
_empfangen durch den heiligen geist, geboren von der jungfrau maria, gelitten unter pontius pilatus, gekreuzigt, gestorben und begraben, hinabgestiegen in das reich des todes, _  
  
Sacrifice herself to save them, or die with them.  
  
_am dritten tage auferstanden von den toten, aufgefahren in den himmel; er sitzt zur rechten gottes, des allmächtigen vaters; von dort wird er kommen, zu richten _  
  
He thinks it would be more comforting to die with them. Surrounded by friends, two men who loved her. He was not told they were in love with her, but he is intuitive and he could see it in their eyes. In the way _his_ hands clenched when he found out she had left the jet, the way _he_ was wracked with sobs. He is sad for them.   
  
_die lebenden und die toten. ich glaube an den heiligen geist, die heilige katholische kirche, gemeinschaft der heiligen, vergebung der sünden, _  
  
He did not know her, but he could see the pureness in her eyes. She shone. She was a saint among mortals. He is positive she is happy wherever she is, among the clouds. He simply wishes he could take away the pain of those she has left behind. He feels for the small girl with white streaked hair who began weeping in the middle of class and had to be taken away. He feels for the lovely white haired goddess who could not stand to come out of her room for days. He feels for the outcast, the one who shows no more sadness, but is prone to fits of anger and rage. He feels for the sunglass wearing man who still refuses to change anything in _their_ room, or to remove any of her belongings. He thinks she will return for him. Personally, he believes him to be mad. Saints simply do not return to earth. It is not done. He prays for them all. Especially, he prays for her.  
  
_st. jean_  
  
_ auferstehung der toten und das ewige leben. amen._  
  



	6. Poised

**authors notes:** Thanks all for the lovely lovely comments. Here is Ororo's point of view since most f you wanted to see her. I really had fun doing this one, It's my personal favorite.   
  
She is refined. She is poised. She is elegant. She is _royalty_. And she has lost all control, along with her best friend.  
  
She never thought any of them would be casualties. She has fought so fiercely for her side, for her friends, and her best friend died.   
  
She has given up so much, days where she remembers nothing because of hard blows, days where she has woken up bleeding and in pain, and her best friend died.  
  
She has learned to control her powers, learned to make it rain or snow, learned to electrocute with a flick of her wrist, and her best friend died. She can not comprehend it yet, she is still in shock. She misses her so badly. She has never had many friends, and she treasured the few she did have.   
  
She will _never_ forget her. She will remember her as the hero that she was.   
  
There are moments where she can swear there is a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she spins around and the lump rises in her throat when she sees no one is there and she wants to fall to her knees and scream and keep screaming until everyone can feel her pain, until everyone can feel the wretched gaping hole that is left in the middle of your very _being_, the pain that is losing your _best friend_ - but she can't.  
  
She will not cry.   
  
She is refined. She is poised. She is elegant. She is _royalty_. She is broken beyond repair. 


	7. Energy

**authors notes**: I think this will be the last chapter of this fic. I'm glad I finished it, though, it was my most successful fic to date. :) Thanks for all the lovely reviews everyone, they made me feel really great.  
  
She still remembers the other side, the other side, where she was a person and she could feel her limbs.  
  
She is not conscious of herself; she is never sure where she truly is. Her body does not feel like hers anymore, she is not matter or substance.   
  
She can not describe how it makes her feel to be alive again, because she does not feel alive. She is simply there; she is simply floating above the water that took her life a few moments earlier. She feels as though she has wings, but she knows this is not possible, she knows it simply could not be.  
  
She wonders why she is alive again.  
  
She is a doctor, she has seen death in front of her very eyes and she has experienced it. She has seen the final breaths of patients, the calmness in their eyes as they grip her hand and disappear..._where_ she is not certain. But she has seen death. And she does not believe this to be death.  
  
Her skin...no it's not skin, she is not certain what it is. What would be her skin if she was human, burns so fiercely that she is surprised she is not on fire. Her heart aches horribly with every breath she takes; she only wants to be home again, she wants to be in his arms. But she does not think this is possible, she does not think he would be able to hold her like this. Her skin would hurt him, it would burn him, and she loves him so much that she does not want to cause him any more pain.  
  
She has never felt so powerful. The power rages through her, building up, and she knows this is the only reason she is floating above the water like an ethereal being. The power is shooting through her, holding her up, and taking her home.   
  
She will not question it. She realizes something, something is making her lips burn beyond recognition and she wants to scream, she can not control this rage building up in her. She clenches her fists, nails dig into her palms, she begins to bleed - is it blood? She is not sure. But she can not help it, she needs to say it, her soul is on fire and she wants to die again, death was more comforting than this (or was it? she wishes she could remember). If she could see her eyes, she would be shocked at the sight of flames rising in them. She is floating above water; her voice is ragged and completely different than Jean Grey's. But she is not Jean Grey anymore.   
  
She is - she stops resisting, she smiles and whispers the word with a hint of amusement in her voice - "Phoenix."  
  



End file.
